Her Stolen Heart
by jennalouisecoleman
Summary: Clara and her Doctor just never realised how much they truly need one another, until they are faced with a choice which may tear them apart for he last time. A romantic, tear-inducing tale of love, lust and loss, with the 11th Doctor and Clara Oswald, his Impossible Girl. IN PROGRESS - BEAR WITH ME! (also, sorry for the awful description - it's not as bad as this makes out!)
1. Missing

She missed him.

God, she missed him so much. She longed for him: she longed to see him, longed to be with him, longed to hold him. She missed him every second of every day, and those feelings burned with a fire so hot no one could ever quench it.

Apart from him.

She dreamed of him every night - she would be standing in the middle of a deserted street, or in a town heaving with people, or simply curled up in her own bed. She could have been anywhere, it wouldn't have mattered. But then, from round the corner, or emerging from the crowd, or from behind the doorframe, a face would appear. His face. The only face she would ever look for. His dark, floppy hair would curl down his forehead, and his eyes would be crinkling, as he smiled, as he smiled broadly at her. He looked at her as if she was the only oasis in a scorching desert; as if he had been blind and she was the first thing he had ever seen.

It had been six months since she'd seen him last. Six months, one hundred and eighty-two days, four thousand three hundred and eighty three hours, two hundred and sixty-two thousand nine hundred and seventy-four minutes, fifteen million, seven hundred and seventy-eight thousand, four hundred and sixty-three seconds. And she'd missed him for every single one.

He had just left without warning. One day he was there with her, running across galaxies, saving the stars, and the next he had gone. She didn't know why. But she waited - she had waited all day and all night for him, not daring to fall asleep in case he came for her. She was still waiting. She didn't know whether he was alive or whether he was dead, and there was nothing she could do. It was tearing her apart; it was taking control of her entire life and smashing it to tiny pieces she could only put together with him. She wanted to hate him, she wanted to forget all about him and hate him for leaving her this way, but she knew just how impossible this was. She was his impossible girl, and he was impossible to forget.

One cold night, she lay with drooping eyelids amidst her soft white sheets, every muscle in her body aching with loneliness and desire, when she was wrenched from her near slumber by the sound of her dreams. She heard the sound that accompanies hope, and freedom, and love. The most beautiful groaning, wheezing sound filled the room, and, right in front of her wide, tired eyes, a bright blue box materialised.

She did not know time between which she saw it and when the old door creaked slowly open. It could have been a second, or ten, or ten thousand. She simply sat there, frozen, in a state absolute shock and disbelief, and a surge of inconceivable joy leaped through her. Could it be, at last, he was really, truly here?

The door was now fully open, and he was there. He was really there. He stood, backlight by the warm heart of his magnificent ship, with the most pitiful expression plastered on his face. He had seen her, and he looked at her like she was the only oasis in a scorching desert, and he looked at her as if he was a man once blinded and now he was seeing the sun, and he looked into her tearful eyes and he could not bear it any longer. He ran across the room to where she was sat, with her hands reaching towards him and her heart beating, whole again, in her chest, and he threw his arms around her and drew her close to him. She broke down in tears, and he held her ever tighter as she sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Clara," he whispered in her ear, his voice cracking ever so slightly as he spoke her name for the first time in what felt like forever. "Oh, my Clara. I will never let you go again."

And with this, tears began leaking down his own cheeks, for he knew now, he knew now better than ever before, the truth of this statement. He never could let her go.


	2. Truth

She must have fallen asleep at some point, for the next thing she knew was the sun streaming through a chink in the curtains, illuminating his pale face and casting long shadows across his cheeks. She gazed at him with pure adoration in her eyes - her Doctor was back, back here with her, and nothing in the universe would persuade her to leave his side for even a second.

He sighed softly, and shifted onto his side, one arm still loose around her. She snuggled closer into his shoulder, resting her head on his arm, and reaching her own around him. She suddenly felt a light pressure on the top of her head, for he had awoken and kissed her gently, stroking her hair with a tender hand. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, and he placed a finger on her chin and lifted her head up to face his. His bright eyes gleamed with joy and pride as he stared into her wide, chocolate-brown ones, which had begun welling up again, simply because she had not seen him in so very long, and he was here with her now.

But then her eyes flickered down, and she leaned slightly away from his hold. She held her hands in her lap and twisted her fingers together, looking down at them. He frowned, puzzled and clearly hurt by her sudden, unexplained behaviour, and why she now seemed to already be wishing him away.

"Clara?" he murmured, not daring to raise his voice any louder in fear of breaking down again. He had lost face in front of her once already, from the sheer elation and indescribable happiness of seeing her again. He had come so close to losing her; and, although she was safe in his arms again, he knew he would never forgive himself. "Clara? What's wrong?"

He saw her close her eyes, as a tear rolled down her rosy cheeks. She quickly raised a hand to her face and wiped it away, as if ashamed to be upset in his presence. She mouthed something, but he could not work out what. Tears began flowing openly down her cheeks, and she tried desperately, in vain, to wipe them all away. He reached out to her, his face creased with pain from seeing her so upset, and gently caressed her beautiful face with his lean hands, brushing her tears away with his fingers. She flinched away at his touch, and lowered her head even more. "Clara," he whispered quietly, his voice pained and desperate. "Clara, my Clara, please. Oh Clara, what's wrong?"

Her shoulders heaving, her body curving into itself, she breathed her words out softly, so softly, in a way that sounded as if her heart was breaking inside her at that very moment. "You just left me. You just left me alone, and you never came back. I waited, I waited for you, every night and every day, and you never came. And now you're here, after days, weeks, months, and you've come here and acted as if you were never gone. You could have been dead, Doctor! You could have been dead!" She was shouting now, and she had lifted her head up and was looking into his eyes with hers, as tears spilled out. She looked at him in the most broken, pitiful way, in a way he never believed she could look at him. He never, ever wanted to hurt her. It was the most fundamental rule he lived by: if it would hurt Clara, he would not do it, even if it meant sacrificing everything he had - including himself.

"I..." he stuttered, unsure of how to approach the situation. All he wanted to to was take her in his arms and hold her close, but as she sat sobbing in front of him, he knew that if he did, she would simply stand and leave. She was hurting. He had hurt her, she was hurting, it was his fault. He had hurt her.

This was all too much. He didn't care any more - he let his own tears run freely, and, seeing this, her forehead creased with worry. What could he possibly have to say that was causing him this much distress? The Doctor, her Doctor, was strong, and brave, and fearless. She had, with the exception of last night, never seen him like this... She had never seen him look so vulnerable, so afraid, and in so much pain.

Was he leaving her again? She stiffened, shocked by this sudden thought which had come to her. He was all she wanted in this world, this universe, all she needed - if he left...

Sensing her heartbeat quicken, his eyes flickered up to meet hers again, and he tentatively reached out for her shoulder. This time, instead of flinching, she let him stroke her gently there.

"Clara...?" he began slowly. She nodded almost imperceptibly, keeping her eyes locked on his. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath and started to reveal the truth to her.

"It was late, late at night. I had just dropped you home - I had carried you into your bed from the chair in the console room of the TARDIS - it had been a long day, you remember; we had been running around Astarasia all day, searching for the perfect beach... You remember?"

She smiled weakly, despite everything - of course she remembered. It was the last day she had been happy. It was a beautiful planet, with a pale lilac sky, and sparkling oceans of the deepest blue colour. He had told her all about the exquisite beaches one could find there, and they had spent hours scouring every inch of ground in the hopes they would discover the perfect one. And they did. It was late evening, and the golden sun was setting over the distant horizon, and they finally found their beach.

It was small, one of the smallest ones they had seen yet. The sands were soft, and pure white, and the warm, sapphire-blue waters lapped over them rhythmically. It was fringed by small cliffs, sealing them in together, creating their own perfect paradise, a paradise for them alone. Tired, but filled with a sudden elation, they ran together down to the shore, laughing as if they would never stop, until tears streamed down their cheeks and their stomachs ached. They lay down on the sand, and, with waves swirling gently around their feet, he showed her the stars. He pointed out every star, every planet, every constellation, every galaxy. He told her tales of monsters, of heroes, of the most incredible things. And it was then, with the sun illuminating his pale face and casting long shadows across his cheeks, she knew. She knew that she was in love with him, truly, irrevocably in love with him, and that she would never leave him. She never could.

Clara had fallen asleep on that beach, with his hand gripping hers tightly, dreaming dreams of him. She woke next morning, and he was gone. Just gone. There was no trace of him anywhere, and she didn't know what to do. What could she do, but wait? Nothing. So she'd waited.

He saw her smile, and he believed for a split second that everything really would be okay again. But then he saw her smile falter, and realised that it wasn't, of course, that easy. He continued quickly.

"So I had dropped you home that night, and laid you in your bed. I decided to go quickly downstairs, to lock up the house for you, before coming back up, and sleeping beside you. I went downstairs, did just that, and as began to climb the stairs I heard the most impossible sound." He paused, and took a breath. Their eyes were still locked on each other's. "It was a sound coming from the TARDIS - it was the phone ringing."

Clara's wide eyes widened even further. Even she knew what this meant - that phone never rang. Not ever. She was the only person alive in the universe that had that number, and she, of course, had not called.

"I didn't know what to do. I don't know how long I stood there for; I have absolutely no idea. But eventually, I decided to just pick it up. You know this, Clara, you're the only person I know who's here today that has that number, and so I had no choice. What if it was you, from the future? Or the past? I couldn't take the risk." He looked at her in a desperate, yearning way, and she knew for certain then that the words he was speaking were truth. "I picked the phone up, and stepped inside the TARDIS - I didn't think you would, but I wanted to be sure I wouldn't wake you. Nothing was coming from the other end of the phone, and I spoke loudly down it, trying to understand who could possibly have called. I was almost about to give up - and then they spoke back. I couldn't work out who it was; I still have no clue. But all I knew was that whoever they were, whatever they wanted, it couldn't be good - not in any way."

Clara closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to take all this in. He still hadn't explained why he was gone for so long, but she could tell he was nearly there.

"How did you know, Doctor? How could you tell something bad would come from it? What did they say? What _did_ happen?" Clara demanded. He bowed his head, and broke eye contact with her for the first time. "Doctor?"

"They told me... They said my name," he whispered, almost inaudibly. "My true name."

Her stomach lurched as he said this. The Doctor had told her himself - nobody knew his real name. Only the Time Lords did, and River Song... Both of whom were long gone, and gone far away.

"But... But who could... Who knows?" She stuttered.

He smiled sadly at her.

"That's just what I needed to know, Clara. Because I believed nobody in the universe knew that name, not any more. So I traced the call back. The TARDIS, my TARDIS, she didn't like that - she protested and groaned, but relented eventually. When we landed, I didn't know where I was. No clue. The TARDIS had no answers, and nor did I. I tried to go outside, but I couldn't - I couldn't leave my own ship. I tried to really leave then, leave the planet, or wherever I was, for good, but I could not. Something was holding me there, not letting me leave. I had to re-wire the entire ship, in an attempt to override it - I didn't sleep for weeks. Six months had passed by the time I was finished, and... What else could I have done? I..." He lowered his head further, ashamed. "I was scared, Clara. I was scared, and I didn't know what was happening. I could only assume the worst - that something terrible was happening to you, and I didn't know what to do about it. There was nothing I _could_ do about it, and that's what scared me most of all. You..." He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to hold it together. "You could have been dead, Clara!" He opened his eyes, which were gleaming with passion and tears, and his stare bore into hers as he said roughly to her, "So don't you ever tell me you were worried, that you didn't know I was okay, don't you complain about any of that because it was nothing, _nothing_ compared to the thought of losing you!" His face crumpled, and he slumped down, overcome with emotion. His hand slid down from her shoulder, and was halfway down her arm before he felt warm flesh grip it tightly.

She was holding his hand, and staring at him with emotion he couldn't even begin to describe. All the hurt, the worry, the pain, that had still been there, still was there, but now her eyes seemed to be filled with the rawest of feelings: pure, unadulterated love. She was in love with him, and she could hide it no longer. He could see it, he realised straight away, because the way she was looking at him now was the way he had always looked at her. She had never realised until now, neither of them had, just how much they cared for each other; as they both realised this together, they saw just how ridiculous that was. They had both loved each other for what seemed like forever, yet neither of them had expressed their feelings, for fear they were alone with them.

But now, as the bright new sun rose in the sky, they sat together under the crumpled bedclothes, holding hands and finally being able to openly love the other. Simply being in the presence of each other was enough for them - they needed nothing more.

So long as they had each other, they needed not food, nor water, nor oxygen.

They were all they needed.


	3. Promise

It had been six days since he had returned, and for Clara, it had been the six best days of her life. She had spent every moment of every day with him; they never tired of one another, and could spend hours simply sitting curled up together, not even speaking, just sitting with one another until the sun set each evening. They spent their nights together, too - they lay under soft, downy bedclothes, bodies intertwined, just sleeping together in the most innocent sense of the phrase.

He always woke before her, and took great pleasure from seeing her in his arms, sleeping peacefully, safe with him. He loved the way her nose wrinkled as she sighed in her sleep, and the way she snuggled close to him, holding him tight even in slumber. When she awoke, he greeted her with a slow, meaningful kiss upon her cherry lips, feeling her smile on his as her beautiful brown eyes fluttered open.

They spent the days enjoying each other's company - they would frolic around in Clara's little kitchen, baking cakes and cookies and soufflés; he took her to see wonders: he showed her the Medusa Cascade in all it's glory, worlds and planets and galaxies right there in front of her eyes. He showed her the stars.

The sixth day began like the others - he woke first, just as the sun began streaming through her cream curtains. Beams of sunlight fell across them as they lay there together, illuminating every perfect feature on her perfect face. He was so lucky to even know her, let alone _be_ with her, have the privilege of waking to see her every morning.

He was smiling to himself, their fingers still laced together, as a cloud passed over the sun, darkening the room slightly. The weather was beginning to turn; it was almost winter, and the air was cool and crisp. His smile widened - it would be Clara's birthday soon. He couldn't wait. He loved her birthday more than she did, and this time would be even more special because they didn't have to prete-

His thoughts were interrupted by a dim, echoing sound from downstairs. He froze, and his pallid skin paled even further, until he looked as if he were gravely ill. He felt as if he was - for the TARDIS phone had started ringing.

"Doctor?" A worried voice spoke up from next to him, still thick with sleep, but with an anxious sense of urgency showing through. "Doctor, what's wrong? What is it?"

He was gripping her had so tightly his knuckles blanched. She tried to ease her hand out of his vice-like grip, when she too heard the noise, and stopped short.

"Doctor..." she breathed. "Oh, Doct-"

All of a sudden his lips were crushing hers. He was kissing her urgently and passionately, in a way that seemed like he was dying, and was trying to show her how much he loved her in the seconds he had left. He had taken her face in his hands, and pulled her as close to him as he possibly could, kissing her and kissing her and kissing her. She broke away, gasping, and looked at him - his breathing was rugged, and he had a fiery look in his eye.

Clara closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm herself down. She knew it was ridiculous, and the worst thing she could have been thinking, but she wished she hadn't stopped. Her stomach churned, and her heart was beating fast. _Stop it_, she warned herself. _Now is not the time_.

"Doctor?" She whispered, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat, and tried again. "Doctor? What are we going to do?"

"No," he growled. "No, Clara. No 'we'. No 'us'. No 'you'."

She felt as if she had just been slapped. No 'them'? What did he mean? Her face flushed red as a thought struck her - did he not care for her? Why had he kissed her, then? Why had he kissed her like that, in that way, in that way that had made her desperate for him? Did he honestly not care for her as she did for him? How wrong _was_ she?

He saw this look of horror on her face, and smiled weakly, his features softening as he gazed at her. "Oh, Clara," he murmured. "Not like that. Of course there's still a 'we', of course there is. But I can't let you get involved with this." He drew her close to his chest, stroking her hair gently as she rested her head on his shoulder, relief surging happily through her.

Downstairs, the phone was still ringing. It continued to ring and ring and ring, the harsh sound echoing through the halls and sending shivers down her spine. He felt her shudder, and held her tighter for a moment, before pulling away; he put his hands on her shoulders and stared her straight in the eyes.

"Clara," he said, his voice steady and sure. "You are the most important person in this universe. From they day I met you until the day the universe ends my duty, my sole purpose, is to protect you from harm. It always has been, and it always will be. This is dangerous. I have lost you too many times, and I swear, Clara, I swear, I will never lose you again."


End file.
